


Overlooked

by herdingcatsphilosopher



Series: Kilts and Earasaids [2]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Coming of Age, Gen, outlander fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-11-16 14:45:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18096377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herdingcatsphilosopher/pseuds/herdingcatsphilosopher
Summary: Janet Ellen Fraser Murray wasn't ever going to slay dragons, sail off to foreign lands or even--by the Blessed St. Oda--learn a trade like her twin, Michael.No one had ever seriously asked for her opinion. And, she'd often been overshadowed by her louder (and taller!) brothers and sisters.Life at Lallybroch was simple, enlivened only by stories of her beloved Uncle Jamie and Claire, his first wife.Things change when she learns her uncle is coming home, faery wife in tow. And, as events unfold at Lallybroch, Janet realizes her childhood idols are only human, like her.





	1. Admiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janet always felt Uncle Jamie and his first wife were, Claire, were characters in a tragic tale. She had idolized them most of her life from stories told by many people.

Janet had always known Uncle Jamie was extraordinary.

As a young girl, she'd been in awe when he'd show up at the house, a fearsome growth of beard hiding his face. Always at night and, alone.

Ian said he'd given up Lallybroch to Jamie, her older brother, to ensure their home would never be taken from them by the British. Uncle Jamie was canny, people said. That the British didn't find him until he wanted to be noticed, was proof of it. And he had planned his surrender so well that Jenny received the reward that kept their entire family, and their tenants, alive during a severe famine. She was grateful, of course. But curious.

What kind of man was Uncle Jamie? How did he survive being tortured by the lobsterbacks in prison? And what happened to him that letters arriving over the past nine or were from "Mac Dubh" and "Alex MacKenzie?"

"Da, why doesn't Uncle Jamie use his name?" she'd asked, as she sat in Ian’s lap and patted his cheeks. She was almost six and confident enough to know her place in Ian's affections.

Ian adjusted his hold on her and squeezed her tight.

"A leannan, I'll tell ye all about it when yer older," he said. “I pray you'll never have occasion to do it yourself.”

"That’s silly! I’ll never forget my name. Doesn’t Uncle Jamie know who he is? I'll tell him myself once I've learned all my letters."

"Och, ye'd make him sad and miss us even more, Janet? Would ye be that cruel to yer Mam's brother?"

"No, I would no’," she answered slowly. "I'll mind ye, Da, and I'll tell the others, too."

She'd written to Uncle Jamie once when she was nine. They all had, under the watchful eye of Jenny. But oh, how she longed to tell him of things she was sure he would know. Of the blue-grey sheen of the sky before a snowstorm and the creaking of the 7th step of the broch. Of the unrelenting chill of his damp cave, though she and Michael had huddled together before a small fire, they’d lit.

But she’d never summoned the courage to do so. And now, she wished she had.

Ian had returned three days ago, near dusk, clearly exhausted but happy. He entered through the kitchen, shedding his coat in haste and kissed the top of her head with a preoccupied air.

“Is yer Mam here, Janet?” He ran his fingers through his unbound hair.

“Yes, she’s in the parlor. Would ye like tea brought to ye, there?”

“Aye, but bring two cups and sugar.” He left without giving her a chance to ask about her brother, Ian.

She brought a tea tray to them. As she entered the room, Ian was holding Jenny in a tight embrace, her face hidden in his chest.

“Thank ye, Janet. Now, leave us for a wee bit and tell everyone not to listen at the door. I’ll let ye know if we’re ready for dinner.”

Maggie and Kitty were already in the kitchen when she returned and told them of Ian’s and Jenny’s odd behavior.

"There wasn't any need for Da to warn us off," Maggie said, a few moments after. "Mam's yelling and crying her heid off. Best brew some willow bark tea, Janet. She'll be having a headache later."

She rushed to do her bidding while her sisters peeled and cut potatoes for dinner.

"And yer sure it's Claire..." Jenny's voice drifted through the kitchen window, startling all three of them.

"Mam forgot to shut the windows again," Kitty muttered as she untied her apron. "I'll remind her about them."

"No!" Maggie and Janet cried at the same time.

"If ye do, we may never know what's happening,” Janet explained.

"It's best we're prepared, don't ye agree?" Maggie added.

They spent the next half-hour deciphering snippets of their parents' conversation. Jenny’s voice rose and fell, alternating between anger, tears, and laughter. A great many words were heard about their younger brother, Ian, and Uncle Jamie. But her mother never again mentioned the one name she was waiting for:

Claire.

The back of her eyes burned with unshed tears.

She'd been brought up on a steady stream of stories of Uncle Jamie’s wife--Claire Beauchamp. She believed Missus Crook's hushed tales of true love lost. And her heart swelled to know that many of their tenants owed their health to her. No, their very lives.

“The potato leaves are all dried up, Jenny. We'll be harvesting tomorrow," Ian announced that evening, to the exclamations of pleasure from everyone at the table.

Janet's ears perked. Was that what her parents were talking about earlier? She could have sworn it wasn't. Looking around, she caught the wink Maggie threw her way. They would speak about it among themselves later, it said.

But she wasn't in the mood for gossip. She slipped away to her room immediately after her chores, turning down her sisters' invitation to join them while they read. Now safely ensconced in her bed, she allowed her mind to wander at will, selecting and discarding thoughts to ponder on.

The potato field was Auntie Claire's gift to them, and they had named it the Auld Garden. The yield from that and the reward money from Uncle Jamie's sacrifice had seen the family through the lean years after Culloden.

"Bless you, Uncle and Auntie," she murmured under breath. "We are truly grateful for your gifts. May you both remain in God's safe-keeping."

Her thoughts flew again and caught on Fergus, the French orphan Uncle Jamie, and Auntie Claire had adopted in Paris. She had never questioned his presence during her childhood. He just was here.

"She stitched men's flesh together, Milady did. A hand tore down the middle, like so. Or a sword wound between the ribs. And one time," Fergus's voice echoed in her memory. "she even sewed up a man's wee baws." She had giggled dutifully with everyone else but wondered privately where Auntie Claire had acquired such skill.

"The courtiers and aristocrats of King Louie's court would look at Milord with envy for his beautiful wife," Fergus had added. "As they should! You have only to look in Milady's trunks in the attic to see the gowns Milord showered her with."

Janet had looked of course, with Kitty in tow. She was fourteen, Kitty sixteen and developing an interest in clothes.

"Such beautiful silks!" Kitty whispered, stroking a red gown with reverent fingers. Janet followed suit with a purple dress trimmed with cream fur around the neckline.

"She must have looked like a princess," Kitty added, a far-away look in her eyes.

"A faery princess," Janet corrected.

And she had inspired love, Fergus said. Even Rabbie MacNab, a former tenant, and one-time stable hand would not hear anything ill of her.

She was barely five when she escaped Maggie's company and hid behind a barrel outside the old barn with Ada, one of the staghound puppies, keeping her company.

"Braw Ada," she crooned. She wanted to pet her but Jamie, her oldest brother, said she shouldn't. She'd spoil the puppy for hunting.

"Ye will no' say anything about Mistress Claire," a man’s voice intruded harshly on her happy daydreams of having a pet of her own.

Peering through the slats of the barn, she kept silent, transfixed by the scene unfolding before her. Rabbie was inside the barn with Mary, his mother. He was scowling ferociously at her, hands clenched at his sides, cheeks red as their rooster's wattles.

"I havenae forgotten how she saved me from Da while ye looked away. It was Granny who told Mistress Claire about the beatings, not you! And now this. How could ye, Mam!" he yelled.

Janet looked around. She could not see anything amiss that could make Rabbie furious.

“Ye dinna understand, Rabbie, maybe ye will when yer a bit older,” Mary said, nearing tears, “what it's like to be alone. But I hope you never know.” She lifted a hand as if to touch her son, but it dropped.

"But ye disrespected their marriage bond!" he sputtered.

Mary’s voice was quiet and full of pity--for herself, for Uncle Jamie, for Rabbie--Janet wasn’t sure. “She died, Rabbie,” she said. “Claire is dead.”

Rabbie snorted and paced the room as if seeking a way out. He stopped and bent his head to hers. "Ye haven’t forgotten Mistress Claire saved me from having fits ever again?” he accused. “Do ye mind the white stone charm she gave me? It's been in my pocket ever since!"

At this last statement, Mary's face crumpled with heartbreak and Janet caught a glimpse of tears. “Claire saved me, too,” she said softly. “You and I both owe her our lives. Did ye think I’ve forgotten?” And through the slats, Janet saw Mary’s back straighten. “If I had a love like her and Jamie, I wouldna want my widower to waste away as he did, livin’ in a cave and not seein’ the light of day. Neither would ye. Rabbie,” she said, as she reached out to touch his cheek, “Ye shouldna challenge actions ye dinna understand.”

At that moment, Rabbie made to storm out of the barn, and Janet fled back to the house.

She'd told Ian what had happened. Though he looked suitably grave, his lack of physical reaction disappointed her. She had half-expected him to puff up and bleat like one of Jenny's prized goats.

Some months after, Rabbie left. When quizzed, Mary said it was time for him to try his luck in London. He'd been gone for almost twelve years now, she mused. She had forgotten what he looked like but remembered virtually the entire conversation she’d overheard.

Janet looked around. Her bedroom was awash with moonlight, every dark corner visible, the whorls and grain of each floorboard exposed. She shivered, feeling a chill, and wondered if a snowstorm was on its way.

As she punched her lumpy pillow into submission, she remembered a night like this, two years ago.

They had received word Uncle Jaimie was finally coming home, pardoned and free at last from bondage. It was joyful news, and they planned a dance to welcome him back. But later that night she found her parents, sitting before the parlor's fireplace, Ian holding Jenny tightly as she wept and moaned for a lost sister.

Janet turned over in her bed and after finding a comfortable position, closed her eyes.  
  
Her last thought, as she finally drifted off to sleep, was that Jenny had loved Auntie Claire, too.


	2. First Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janet begins having doubts about everything when Jenny gives her a task she's conflicted about.

It was a dreadful day, and Janet's mood matched it.

Huge, grey clouds hung ominously low in the southeast while faster moving ones raced each other northward. A fugitive cold wind played havoc with Janet's cloak and skirt, puffing them out most annoyingly.

At least her brother, Jamie, had saddled up Fatima, the most placid and biddable mare in their stable. The dark brown Friesian ignored the flapping of her garments when another horse would have spooked.

She pushed back the hood of her cloak irritably. She had not had time—or made the time—to climb to her room and get her own before she left.

Instead, she had taken the first available cloak from the peg behind the kitchen door. Wrinkling her nose, she thought it was most likely Ian's. It smelled like him—a combination of unwashed body odor, dung, and wet dog.

"Ye'd have done the same if told to do something ye didn't want to," she mumbled to Fatima. She couldn't believe a day that had begun so promisingly could turn out to be disappointing. What was a body to do?

She had ridden Fatima hard, trying to put as much distance as she could between her and Lallybroch. They had made good time on the ride to Broch Mordha, nearing it before mid-morning. Beyond the village lay Balriggan, less than a quarter-hour’s walk.

Where she had an unpleasant task to discharge for Jenny.

Being the youngest daughter isn't like being the youngest son," she grumbled to Fatima, who merely snorted back. "You're forced to do things ye don't want to. In and out, Jamie said! Dinna talk to anyone else." she said, imitating her brother's baritone.

Returning to her normal voice, she added, "He has no idea how embarrassing this could be. The Grizzler will be asking questions. What could I say to head her off?"

Leaning forward, she stroked Fatima's withers. "At least we women have more sense than to give unwanted, vague advice, do we not?"

She should have been rejoicing for the return of her brother, Ian, the visit of Uncle Jamie, and most importantly—Claire. Janet could have been gossiping excitedly about Auntie Claire's miraculous return with her sister-in-law, Joan.

But she wasn't.

And she only had one person to blame—Jenny.

"Good morning to ye," a deep voice called out, startling her.

Approaching her was Amyas Kettrick, the owner of a neighboring property. He was a portly man, about the age of her father, nodded to him politely from her perch.

"Good morning, sir. Glad to see ye up and about."

"Yer one of the Murrays. Are yer da and mam home, Mistress? I have something of import to tell them."

She smiled at him in answer, pleased at being addressed like an adult. "I have an errand to run, but it won't take more than an hour. I can pass on your message," she offered. "Unless there is something else ye intend to discuss with them."

"Och, no. But I met yer Uncle Jamie and, I believe, one of your brothers early this morning. A woman was with them," he said huffily. "She’s younger than him with curly, brown hair. I dinna ken who she is, though she looked familiar." He raised both eyebrows at her.

She barely heard his last sentences for the thrumming of her heart. Fatima fidgeted at that moment, sidling away from the roan gelding Amyas was riding. Janet fought to regain her composure as she brought her mare under control.

"Yer nag's a flighty one," he observed with interest. "Hold on to yer reins and dinna forget yer seat."

She ignored his advice. "I'm sure I won't," she answered. "But I must be off if I'm to make it home before tea. How far away are they?"

Amyas looked disappointed to Janet’s jaundiced eyes. It was clear he was expecting information to share with everyone else.

"The way they were dawdling, it would be another good four or five hours," he said. "Well, I'll take my leave of you then. Give my regards to Ian and Jenny." And with that, he doffed his tricorn hat and rode away.

Janet urged Fatima forward, allowing the mare to pick her way on the bridle path. She needed to think, and Fatima knew how to get to Balriggan, anyway. Janet could trust her not to stray.

She just wished she could say the same for herself.

 

* * *

 

Her day had started auspiciously enough.

She'd woken with a sense of well-being for she'd beaten George, the rooster, before his fifth crow. She considered it a particularly good omen, despite the strong draft from the window.

She was already helping Mary and Joan, her sister-in-law, well before Jenny showed up in the kitchen.

"It's a fine day when you're up afore your Da." Jenny smiled at her briefly then fell silent. Amid the greetings of the two other women, Janet peeked at Jenny, trying not to stare. But it was difficult. She'd rarely seen her mother so upset, with puffy eyelids and red-rimmed eyes.

"Mam, would ye like some tea now?" she offered. "Ye can take it in the parlor. I'll be in and light a log fire for ye."

"Aye, Mother Jenny," Joan seconded. "We have breakfast well in hand. A fire will warm ye up nicely."

Jenny considered for a moment. Then nodding her agreement, she motioned for Mary to follow her out.

One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three—

"What do ye think happened?"

"Have ye ever seen Mother Jenny so tired?"

Janet and Joan laughed softly at talking on top of each other.

"It's not for me to say, but they were in the parlor till the wee hours. Jamie and I were in bed long afore we heard them climb the stairs," Joan whispered.

"I've rarely seen Mam so sad, Joan," Janet confided. “The last time was when Uncle Jamie married Auntie Laoghaire. But that was the day after the wedding," she added as she upended a basin to wash her hands.

Joan strode to the open kitchen door and peered out into the dark hallway. Closing it half-way, she returned to stand beside Janet near the kitchen sink. Together, they listened for voices from the parlor.

There were none to be heard.

"Well, Jamie told me Mother Jenny had seen the fetch of a woman between Uncle Jamie and Laoghaire at the altar," Joan said in a low voice.

"No—" Janet breathed, crossing herself. The hairs at her nape lifted, and she shivered at the fresh draft of air coming in from the open window.

"Mother Jenny said it was the fetch of Uncle Jamie's first wife, Claire, the sassenach," Joan answered, crossing herself as well. "She swore to Jamie if she wasna sure Claire was a witch, she kent it then. Why else would she show herself afore the final blessing?"

"So why didn't Mam say anything then? Call off the wedding? By the Blessed Saint Oda, Uncle Jamie looked near to death himself," Janet exclaimed. "Da always said Uncle Jamie would have run off if Da had not herded him from his room.”

Janet's thoughts were in a whirl but uppermost in her mind was Jenny's perfidy.

She was fifteen when Uncle Jamie had come home two years ago. Silent and sad. To her surprise—but not to Mam's—he married a widow within a week of his arrival. The whiner, the sniveler—Laoghaire MacKenzie MacKimmie. A woman who didn't know how to fight correctly, Jenny and Ian had whispered to each other—not knowing Janet was right there, hiding under the stairs.

"How could he?" Janet had raged to Michael throughout the ceremony. Memories of Auntie Claire were all around them! To learn Jenny could have prevented it—

"Mam should have said something, then. Called out…anything to stop it." Janet could say no more for the lump in her throat.

"And to what end, eh?" Joan asked sensibly. "It would have disgraced us all, to stop the wedding. And, it was plain to see, Auntie Laoghaire needed Uncle Jamie. No, wanted him."

"Hmppff—"

They sprang apart and turned, alarmed it was Jenny returning. But it was Mary, frowning at them who had made that disapproving sound.

"The Mistress has asked for ye, Janet," she said evenly. "I've already lit a fire in the parlor. I'm glad ye've not brewed tea, seeing she doesna want it now."

Joan hurried back to the bannocks she was preparing. Janet blushed but said nothing as she rushed to the parlor. Mary was a sweet woman; her loyalty to Jenny was unquestionable. She was also not one to tattle, but she did not tolerate people gossiping, not when there was work to be done.

Arriving at the parlor, Janet knocked quietly, entering only when told to.

 

* * *

 

 

The room was dim, lit only by two candles and the glow from the fireplace. Janet took a few steps inside bringing her beside the Laird's table.

She was startled. Jenny was standing near one of the bookshelves, a glass of whiskey clutched to her chest. Most people in the highlands drank whiskey. Even weans were given it when they were teething. But she'd never seen Jenny, nor Ian for that matter, drink it so early in the day.

"Mam, I could make ye tea. Does Da know you’re down here?"

"It's of no importance," Jenny answered. She was now holding the glass up toward the nearest candle, studying its contents as if entranced.

"Mam—"

"Whiskey eyes," Jenny whispered. "Jamie always said that's what they were. How could I have forgotten?"

Janet fell silent, rooted to where she was. She stilled trembling hands. It wouldn't do to show Jenny she was frightened.

"Janet," Jenny said abruptly, bringing the glass back to her chest, "I need ye to go to Balriggan. Tell yer Auntie Laoghaire that Jamie is back from Edinburgh. Tell her," she paused, seeming to consider her next words, "he’s bringing home a piece of baggage—Claire."

She gasped, searching Jenny's face for any sign she was somehow joking. Janet's heart beat faster. Auntie Claire was Ian's secret yesterday! She'd somehow found her way back to Uncle Jamie. Wasn't that something to be happy about?

Jaw clenched, Jenny half-turned to look outside the window where dawn lightened the sky. "Tell Laoghaire I need her to be here when Jamie and yer brother, Ian, arrive in five days. She and Jamie must settle the question of who the legal wife is, and quick, afore more damage can be done to their marriage," she said evenly.

Janet felt behind her for the edge of the Laird's table and clung to it. No, she decided. Jenny must have misspoken. She couldn't have possibly said that. She knew Jenny loved Claire. Why stir up trouble that way?

"Mam…" she cleared her throat and fumbled with the hem of her apron. "I…I dinna hear ye correctly."

She looked around her, hoping for anything that would distract Jenny. Or give her courage. She felt a fluttering in her stomach at the prospect of questioning her mother's instructions. She had never done so before.

"Did ye order me, Mam, to ride to Bal...Balriggan this morning and tell Laoghaire Unc…Uncle Jamie is coming ho…home?" she stammered. "With Auntie Clare? But she's his wife! Laoghaire has nothing to do with it."

Quick as a flash, Jenny rounded on her, face leeched of all color save for her lips and flashing eyes.

"Ye seem to be hard of hearing, Janet. And yes, I want ye to ride to Balriggan to tell Laoghaire about Jamie and his first wife." Jenny shook her head at her and crossed her arms below her breasts. "A body would think ye dinna ken what's right or wrong. Claire left us. It doesna matter if it was before or after Culloden. She just did. Now, yer Uncle Jamie's marrit again. And Laoghaire is his legal wife."

Sweat trickled down her back. Janet clenched her hands and bit her lip, hoping to stem the words welling up from her. But she could not. The bitterness of willow bark was on her tongue, and the words rushed out in a torrent of confusion.

"And why should I be the one to go to Balriggan? It's not like they'll be home anytime soon."

"Haud yer wheesht, Janet!"

"What about ye, Mam? Do you ken that what ye want me to do is wrong?" she cried out. "How will telling her, of all people, help Uncle Jamie? She does nothing but snivel and cries when they quarrel. And Uncle Jamie married again because he believed Auntie Claire died—"

"He never even told me she was dead! Only that she was lost to him forever."

"Mam, Auntie Claire's marriage came first. Therefore, Grizzler cannot be married to him. And ye cannot change my mind about it."

"Watch yer tongue," Jenny cut in, her voice low and hard. "She's still yer Auntie Laoghaire and deserves yer respect. Dinna call her by that name."

At Janet's snort of derision, Jenny uncrossed her arms and stood akimbo, watching Janet with narrowed eyes. "And what is this talk about Claire's marriage into our family? What do ye ken about it? She was well away even afore ye were born."

"I kent from your stories … all of yours! Da's, Missus Crook's and even Granny MacNab's before she passed away when I was five."

"We didn’t ken who she is, Janet. Nobody did," Jenny answered, a quaver in her voice. "I was as much a fool as anyone, for I had not thought to ask her about her folks." Jenny walked toward the hearth and stopped, hand on the mantle, looking up at the portrait of her mother, Ellen MacKenzie Fraser. “I believed in the love I thought she and Jamie shared.”

Seeing Jenny silhouetted against the fire, head bowed, body shuddering as she drew deep breaths, moved Janet profoundly. She had never thought Jenny was small. On the contrary, she had always seemed more vital than anyone else, including Uncle Jamie.

For a moment, Janet's heart contracted with love. She blotted tears from her eyes and her cheek with her apron, intending to apologize for answering back and worse, raising her voice. But, Janet thought, it was clear Jenny was conflicted. Otherwise, she would have just ordered Janet to do her bidding.

So Janet remained still—her hands pleating her apron to the occasional popping from the log fire—hoping for a reprieve from her unwanted task.

Straightening slowly, Jenny squared her shoulders and turned back to her, eyes tearless and bright, color back in her cheeks.

She waved her hand dismissively at Janet, voice once again firm. "But it is what it is. I know there's no reasoning with ye, but ye must go. Now, afore the rains begin. Remember to bring a cloak for the rains are sure to come."

And with that, Jenny brushed past in a cloud of whiskey fumes, leaving Janet alone in the parlor with her thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Janet started from her daydreams to find Fatima had crested the final rise to Balriggan. It was a pretty property, she acknowledged, with an orchard, vegetable plots and a small lake visible from where she was.

It was easy to imagine Uncle Jamie fishing or doing chores around the place. And she wondered, not for the first time, at the state of his second marriage. It said much that he had been able to leave this idyllic place and his new bride. Gathering her thoughts, she urged Fatima faster toward a small gate set in the hedgerow.

She wasn't sure if she should tell Laoghaire that Uncle Jamie would be in Lallybroch that afternoon. A part of Janet rebelled against it, deciding instead to give Jenny's message as it was. She wasn't going to lie, she told herself virtuously. But she wasn't going to include Amyas Kettrick’s news.

Janet reached the gate and hesitated before dismounting. Wee Joanie and Marsali, Laoghaire's daughters, were sitting on a bench halfway to the house. Blonde and ginger heads were close together as they surveyed the vegetable plots. A heaviness settled in her stomach. They would be devastated at her message.

"It doesn't matter," she said under her breath as she unlocked the gate. "They're not Uncle Jamie's real children." She thought rebelliously, that it was true, even as she tamped down her guilt at downplaying their place in her uncle's affections.

Joanie saw her first and ran up to her, grinning with delight. Marsali followed more sedately, giving her a reserved but genuine smile. Once again, Janet felt conflicted.

"Janet, yer here!" Joanie cried, hugging her midsection.

"Are ye here to see Mam?" Marsali asked. She looked toward the gate where Fatima was tethered, forehead crinkling. "Did ye come alone?"

"Yes, I'm here to see your mam," she answered quietly. Her chest felt too tight, so she took a deep breath. Then another. "Is she in?" she asked, half-praying Laoghaire was in the village or had gone off to visit her brother, Hobart.

"Aye, she's inside,” Marsali answered. Peering into Janet’s face, she exclaimed, “Cousin, you've gone as white as goat cheese! Are you ill? Let’s go in so you may rest.” Marsali took hold of one arm, urging Janet forward, Joanie following behind.

The door of the brick house opened, and the small, plump figure of Laoghaire came out, cap-covered head bobbing in her haste to reach them.

Now that the moment had arrived, Janet wasn't sure she could go through it. She didn't know if she could be so cruel as to hurt someone deliberately. Even someone she disliked.

“Mary, Margaret, and Bride! What in the name of God has happened to ye, Janet?" Laoghaire asked as she reached up to lay a hand on Janet’s forehead.

Janet tried to smile, but the corners of her lips refused to turn up. Sweat broke out on her face, her nape, and trickled down her back.

"Come in for some water or milk if it suits ye," Laoghaire said with a half-smile.

But Janet shook her head. She gently removed Marsali's hand from her arm and faced Laoghaire.

"Please, please, Saint Michael, deliver me from this task," she mumbled under her breath.

"Why, yer as skittish as a colt," Laoghaire said, not unkindly. "What's wrong? Speak up, niece!”

Janet pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezed her eyes tightly and, gathering courage, burst out—

"Mam-wants-ye-to-know-Uncle-Jamie-will-be-home-in-five-days-with-my-brother-Ian-and-his-baggage-Auntie-Claire."

 


End file.
